


A Queen or a Mother, but Rarely Both

by PencilofAwesomeness



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: A character study of sorts, Gen, One Shot, Post 2x20, This kinda just happened, drabble/oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilofAwesomeness/pseuds/PencilofAwesomeness
Summary: Moira Queen was no saint, but she was a mother.Or, Moira's reflection.





	A Queen or a Mother, but Rarely Both

_“Shame and blame don’t help parents. What matters is who will take responsibility.” – James Lehman_

* * *

 

The doctor had warned her that Oliver wouldn’t be the same man that she had lost, but Moira knew that already.

The day Oliver called her, five years after that fateful incident, had been simultaneously the worst and the best day of her life. Nothing compared to the relief and joy of hearing her dead son’s voice, assuring her that he was alive and coming home. Yet… nothing compared to the wave of guilt and sorrow soon thereafter, knowing that she had done that to her only son.

For many days and weeks and months, Moira had wondered if it was the right thing to do. She had loved Robert, yes, but what he planned to do was not acceptable. She told herself, that three people were acceptable collateral to the hundreds that might die—that her son mustn’t be allowed to follow in his father’s footsteps of selfish and misguided intent. She had chosen the duty of a Queen over that of a mother, and she would have to live with that for the rest of her life.

The death of her once-husband, her beloved little boy, and the sweet and innocent Sara Lance bore on her heart like a sinking-stone.

When Oliver reached out to her on a boat in the North China sea, Moira had never been happier that she had failed. The rush of maternal love streamed down her face; her son, her precious darling son, was alive.

But at what cost? _The Queen’s Gambit_ wrecked five years ago. For five years, her son had been marooned on some God-forsaken island. Moira Queen knew a little bit about hell, and what it did to people—she had looked into its eyes one too many times. And Moira Queen knew that the savage intent to survive, to come up on top, was perhaps near the very heart of hell.

The day Oliver stepped off the plane, back home, Moira knew that Oliver had seen it too. The cold, broken, distant gaze full of pain and mistrust that replaced her son’s naïve eyes was sign enough, never mind the tense, muscled shoulders, and the jagged scars.

Moira had done this to him: the fact weighed the heaviest on her soul. She had sent her son to hell, and she couldn’t take it away from him.

It would have been best, she thinks, if he had died on the ship with his father.

But no: Moira is too selfish—she has her son, her only living son, back and she isn’t going to let him go. She keeps him close, gauging what he knows, and desperately wishes Armageddon away. It’s foolish, she knows, but Moira just wants her family safe.

She has failed as a mother, and there was no redemption; there was, however, apology. If she could protect her children from the demons the Queen family have created, then maybe it will be enough.

Moira almost laughs bitterly when the Hood points an arrow at her chest; she can try to cloister her family away, but the forces born in retaliation will still try to claim her penance.

“I-I’m a mother,” she blurts, shaking on her knees before the arrow pointed at her chest. It’s a desperate attempt, but it’s all she has. “I have a son, Oliver. And a daughter—her name is Thea. She’s just a teenager, please don’t take me from my children.” It would be cruel, far too cruel, to take her children’s mother away. They might deserve better than her, but Moira knows that her loss might bring them over an edge that is too dangerous to cross. It is the vow of a mother and a guardian to keep her children from the darkness. She might have already failed—she’s seen the shadows in Oliver’s eyes—but Moira wants to be there to guide her children away from the path she has beaten. It’s the least she can do. But she can’t do it if she’s dead. “They lost their father. They can’t lose me, too. Please, whoever you are. Please…”

Moira pleads, her attempts honest, even though she just needs to buy time. She is by no means helpless to the means of fate, even if deserving. Moira is not ready to die. She _needs_ to protect her family; she couldn’t protect Walter—he was too large a target—but she’d be damned forever if she wouldn’t drag her children away from this.

“Okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The messenger of vengeance lowers the bow, but Moira hardly hears him. This is her chance to get away; this is her chance protect her family.

She doesn’t think twice before firing the gun, though she squeezes her eyes shut. Perhaps, if she doesn’t look, the new death wouldn’t be on her conscience.

Moira scrambles for the radio, voice trembling as the adrenaline clumsily leaves her veins. “This is Moira Queen, I’m on the 39th floor, I need help. There’s an intruder, please!” It was close…so close…

Heart beating wildly in her chest, she dares to look at the damage she had caused.

He’s gone, a phantom, but there’s a pool of crimson blood that proves that he was—that proves that she hit him.

 

Some say, a mother always knows her child, that his presence is unmistakable. But it wasn’t until months later that Moira puts the jagged pieces together.

She knew that the Hood had attacked people on the List. She knew that most ended up dead.

Moira Queen was neither on the List nor dead, yet he had visited her anyways.

The Hood utilized a darkness, a darkness she could see in her son’s eyes.

The accidents, the lies, the dedication.

Moira fell to knees that night and wept.

—o0o—

She hopes, as she falls off of Slade Wilson’s blade, that she hasn’t failed. Oliver has proved that he was the best Queen, that he could repair the broken city they called home in a way she nor Robert could ever do—that he can right their wrongs.

Moira hates what he has to go through—what he _has_ gone through—to make it possible. She hates that she is leaving Thea without the proper goodbye. She hates the price they must pay on her behalf.

But this is her penance; her responsibility. And if the agonizing blade of a sword will save her children from doom, and give them a chance to live a brighter future, then she will die a thousand times over.

When Moira hits the ground, she is numb and the world is dark. The last thing she thinks, is that she is glad that her children are better than she ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda just happened... It's probably trash, but oh well. I ended up finding a bunch of scenes and pics from back when she was alive and thinking, 'What was up with that chic?' Moira loves her children very much, but she was also willing to send her son to death along with her husband. 
> 
> Please note that it's been a while since I've seen season one or two. I wrote this after mourning the end of season five. 
> 
> All the dialogue is taken straight from 1x13/1x14.


End file.
